


A Puppy for Keith - Mini Fic #2

by TheNightComesDown



Series: Mini Fics [2]
Category: The Who (Band)
Genre: Classic Rock, Domestic Boyfriends, Fluff, M/M, Mild Language, Pet Adoption, Puppies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-04
Updated: 2019-09-04
Packaged: 2020-10-10 01:43:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20519900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheNightComesDown/pseuds/TheNightComesDown
Summary: After reading a short blurb by @hardzzellos, I knew that the world needed a little fic where Keith and John adopt a puppy together. Hope your heart is filled with joy when you imagine a little pup kissing Keith’s cheeks!





	A Puppy for Keith - Mini Fic #2

“For the last time, Keith, we’re not getting another dog,” John stated firmly, crossing his arms across his broad chest. “Besides, Fitz is too old to have a pup running around the house and bothering him constantly.” The bassist leaned forward in his chair and glanced down at the elderly dog resting at his feet. “There’s our good boy, eh, Fitz?”

Keith collapsed backwards onto the sofa with a sigh of defeat; his latest attempt to convince John to visit the local Humane Society with him had been unsuccessful, to no one’s surprise. 

“But John, just imagine the little paws,” Keith moaned, not ready to drop the subject. “They’ll be way too big for his body, and he’ll slip on the hardwood floors. It’d be so adorable, don’t you think?” He pouted his lips and gazed over at John with warm, brown eyes as sad as those of the fictional puppy he was describing. 

“You know how much I love dogs,” John reminded the drummer. “It really isn’t that I wouldn’t enjoy having another, Keith, so don’t make it about that.” 

“What is it really, then?” 

John rolled his eyes and shook his head. How many times did he have to explain it, and in how many ways, before Keith would understand? 

“It’s just not a good time, love,” John said gently. “We can talk about it another time. For now, though, why don’t we talk this old geezer out for a walk? He sorely needs it after we’ve been away on tour.” 

Fitz, a massive, grey-haired wolfhound as calm as his master lifted his head from his paws at the mention of the word ‘walk’. Keith, too, was thrilled at the prospect. He jumped up from his place on the sofa and raced towards the back door, and Fitz took off after him. 

“Doesn’t seem so old now, does he, John?” Keith called over his shoulder. “He could run an ‘undred miles by my side, this fella could. Eh, Fitzy?” The hound let out an excited bark as Keith shoved his feet into his loafers, and squeezed out the door ahead of his dark-haired papa so as to relieve himself on a tree while waiting for John. 

* * * * * 

The front door slammed shut much louder than Keith had anticipated; he winced, and hoped not to have disturbed John. His partner would probably be across the house, doodling in his office while the afternoon sunlight persisted. The bundle in Keith’s arms wiggled happily, and he shushed it softly. 

“Now, now, don’t give yourself away just yet,” Keith warned his squirming parcel. “We’ll have you make the acquaintance of our resident pup, and then John can’t possibly send you back.” 

As though Keith had called his name, the ageing wolfhound came padding into the front entryway, abandoning John to his work. The drummer crouched down and offered the bundle to his furry friend, encouraging him to have a sniff. 

“Well, what do you say, old chap?” Keith murmured. A wet, black nose peeped out from beneath the blankets, and Fitz snorted in surprise. A low growl escaped the large dog’s throat, despite Keith’s attempts to keep him quiet. “Come now, let’s not make a scene.” 

“What’s Fitz on about?” John hollered from his office. “Check his food bowl, will you? I might have forgotten to fill it this morning. He’s always in a mood if I forget.” 

Keith stammered out some sort of reply, hoping it was relevant to what John had suggested. He was too busy watching the tiny creature he’d snuck into the house as it emerged from its fluffy bundle to pay attention. 

The puppy, barely the size of a small loaf of bread, toddled around on the dark hardwood floor. Evidently, his little paws had never walked on wood before. Fitz observed the tot with curious eyes; he had ceased his growling once he was able to see his new housemate fully. The pup was mostly black, with brown spots above his eyes, and little brown ‘socks’ on each leg, both characteristic of Rottweilers. His dark eyes reminded Keith of his own. 

“Come on, now, make friends,” Keith encouraged, crouching down between Fitz and the puppy. He scratched the back of the wolfhound’s neck, and the dog stepped forward into his touch. The little pup took the opportunity to smell Fitz’s front legs, and decided that they were good for licking, much to the hound’s confusion. He looked down at the creature before him and watched as it gently nipped at him. 

“None of that, now,” Keith scolded the puppy. With a gentle hand, he guided the pup away from Fitz’s legs, showing him that biting wasn’t nice. Old Fitz was patient, but wouldn’t take kindly to being harassed for too long. In fact, the shaggy dog left Keith and his new friend for the comfort of his bed on the other side of the room, much to the puppy’s dismay. He yipped once, then tore after his elder. 

Fitz laid down on a large, plush cushion, his favourite spot to rest. He placed his face down beneath his large paws and closed his eyes, not opening them even when his new little pal came bouncing along. The puppy stopped at the edge of Fitz’s bed, observed that the old dog was resting, and as though he understood his need for quiet and sleep at his age, curled up against Fitz’s belly. With a yawn, Keith’s pup fell asleep, too. 

The drummer, who had a fondness for shenanigans of all sorts, watched the little scene with a strange calmness uncommon for him. He knew the puppy would get into plenty of mischief later, but was touched by the gentleness of the situation. In fact, he was reminded of his own relationship with John. Though his senior by only a few years, John had always been a serene and steadfast presence in Keith’s life, even during moments when Keith felt himself spiralling out of control. The bassist guided him with a steady hand and held him close at times when he was overcome by the messes he found himself in. 

Keith’s thoughts were interrupted by the creak of the floors down the hall, indicating John’s arrival. A bit of panic set in as he considered the man’s possible reaction to his having brought home a puppy despite having been told ‘no’. There was nothing to do but wait, so Keith crossed his legs like a child in primary school might, and sat beside the two snoozing pups in their bed. 

“It’s too quiet in here,” John observed, entering the room. He looked down at his partner, and his eyes naturally followed Keith’s gaze, coming to a halt on the pile of pups on the dog bed. The puppy’s short black and brown fur was in stark contrast to the shaggy waves of Fitz’s grey fur, and it only took John a second to register that there was a second dog in their house. His blue eyes narrowed, and he stared down at Keith with an expression he typically reserved for Roger Daltrey, when asked to turn down at concerts. 

“Keith, what the _fuck_ is that?” John asked, his voice steady but stern. 

“That,” the drummer gulped, “is a puppy.” 

“And what did I say when we talked about getting another dog, Keith?” John’s voice rumbled like thunder, a quality Keith hadn’t heard in any other person. 

“Well, I seem to recall—” 

“I said no,” John interrupted, raising his voice slightly. “Why did I say no, Keith?” His tone reduced Keith to a mumbling mess, which John immediately regretted. He hated seeing his partner upset more than anything in the world, even more than not having been listened to. 

“I’m sorry, John,” Keith said, his voice breaking as tears welled in his eyes. “I was just at the Humane Society, and, um, there was this litter of puppies that had lost their mum, and I couldn’t just _walk away_. They looked so lonely, and the caretaker said they might be put down if no one adopted them.” 

John scratched the side of his nose with his index finger as he thought about the matter at hand. Eventually, once he had allowed himself to calm down, he let out a heavy sigh, and joined Keith on the floor. He held an arm out toward the man, and when Keith leaned into his chest, John wrapped his arms around the drummer, whose build was slight in comparison to his own. The man fit against him perfectly, with his head tucked into the crook of John’s neck. 

“I love that your heart is so big, Keith,” he said simply. “I know you brought him home because you wanted him to be safe.” 

“He loves to cuddle,” Keith informed John softly. “And he’ll be good to take on walks. Has lots of energy, just like me.” As he finished his sentence, the pup yawned once more, exposing his little pink tongue and tiny teeth. John felt his heart swell with care for the little thing, and knew instantly that he couldn’t ask Keith to take it back. 

“We’ll keep him, so long as you promise to help train him,” John decided. “Fitz is a good dog, as all my other dogs have been, and I won’t have this scrap of a thing pissing on the floor or tearing up the sofas, yeah?” Keith nodded dramatically and gave John a tight hug in gratitude. 

“You won’t be disappointed, John,” the drummer promised. “I’ll teach Flint to be a good dog, just you wait and see.” 

“Flint?” John raised an eyebrow curiously. 

“Yep, that’s what I’m going to call him,” Keith nodded. “After that town in the States where I fucked up that Holiday Inn on my 21st birthday, remember?” 

John’s stomach turned at the memory; he certainly didn’t remember much, except that he was in the toilet vomiting for a majority of the next day, and had been forced by Roger to go into the hospital to have an IV put in for fluid replacement. He’d been almost delirious with dehydration, and Keith had fared even worse. 

Well into their 40s now, the men’s hard lifestyle had certainly managed to catch up with them. John had gone grey nearly a decade ago, and Keith had been forced to give up boozing and indulging in drugs, at the urgent behest of John, their bandmates, and several doctors. Everyone wanted to see the drummer live, and he certainly would not have if he hadn’t set aside his days of wild parties. Now, he had found a way to be content with the quiet life he and John maintained out in Gloucestershire. 

“John, are you alright?” Keith’s voice came into focus, cutting off his moment of reminiscing. He laid a hand on John’s leg and gave it a reassuring squeeze, as if to say, _Don’t worry, I’m here._

“Flint it is,” John said finally, shaking his head to rid himself of times long past. “Anything else you want to tell me? Remember, my heart’s not as good as it used to be, so no more surprises.” 

“Well,” Keith said with gaining confidence, “I was thinking that we could go back and have a look at the rest of the litter, seeing as you’re okay with—” 

**“Absolutely not.”**


End file.
